Purple Hyacinths of Empty Hands
by soniagiris
Summary: i feel numb / i feel numb in this kingdom.


The silence following Monokuma's broadcast, after it flickers off the monitors, and all the eyes drawing to the table — that is the longest hush Kyosuke's ever experienced. It's simply too quiet. As if no one's breathing, no heart is beating, all his coworkers and friends — friend, just one, now, he corrects himself numbly — trying to process this new world order, making plans, struggling to readjust their visions of the future.

It's just a few seconds before Bandai leaves to examine their environment, and Gekkogahara focuses on her computer as Naegi frowns at her, but it's enough, these few moments of relative peace, to start thinking. Start reasserting. To distance himself from the emotions and look at those circumstances with a cold heart. (Colder than the body on the table).

It is evident that his own future is not going to be the desired one. Even though he can't make himself look at Chisa (and, god, he never called her that, made a game out of it, knowing how it disturbs— disturbed her, and now he'll never be able to whisper those two syllables in a breath shared with the girl he loves so terribly much), all the hopes and fears concerning their future readjust. In this new world, there's no place for choosing the proper words to ask that one question he planned to ask since their very first kiss, and there's no need to think about who to invite to the brightest day of their shared infinity, and there's no hope it'll ever change. Such a freezing revelation. But, maybe, maybe, she's just... That's a childish hope, this one, but, even so, Kyosuke reins in those dark thoughts of previous few seconds and climbs onto the table, reaches for Chisa's hand and, in those close to timeless moments, dares to be optimistic, be blind to the—

Her skin isn't cool yet. Her limp fingers haven't already lost those last traces of warmth, of life, and that's it, that's when the pull of despair is almost enough. That's when Kyosuke almost lets it overwhelm him. It would be so easy, to just fall and never try to swim, only sink and stop fighting. Stop giving a fuck about the future.

Then, he notices a small doodle on the inside of Chisa's wrist. A flower. Rose, maybe, or a lopsided gardenia. Funny.

A few weeks before the Tragedy, Kyosuke saw a small florist's shop, spontaneously decided to buy a small bouquet, just a few roses with pale pink petals, and, an hour later, smiling to himself, watched Chisa giggling at how sappy her partner is. They had already confessed their love.

For a while, nothing else exists, only the memory of Chisa's affectionate grin and how her perfume smelled faintly of oranges, how soft her hair felt when he slowly ran his fingers through it. Kyosuke closes his eyes in sorrow. Then, the bubble bursts, the time resumes its flow, and he lifts Chisa's body, carries her off this altar to despair. And — isn't it frightening, the ease with which things one loves change into more griefs, regrets, words never spoken and worlds never seen.

Even for his carefulness in not making an eye contact, Kyosuke still sees that spark of sadness on Makoto Naegi's face, as the boy presses his lips into a thin line. Presumably wanting to make another speech. But, for the love of everything valued, if he spouts more nonsense about accepting everyone and ignoring their flaws or faults, Kyosuke will punch him.

Someone killed Chisa. Someone did this, just to bring more doubt, death, despair. But if they think it can be enough, they're the one wrong. They can hurt him, take the ones he loves away, kill him, force him to kill, but they won't make him despair. Not now. Even when he gently sets Chisa's body on the ground and closes her eyes, then wipes away stray tears, it's still as if her spirit lingers on. It clings to him and whispers those encouraging words. The death isn't enough to make him forget Chisa's love. It will be another reason to destroy despair.

Nodding to himself, Kyosuke examines the sleek bracelet now adorning his wrist and then, just for a heartbeat, he can almost discern a matching flower drawn on his own skin.


End file.
